“I’m going to sleep,” he said.
“Wait. Look at our house first,” I said. I nodded at the window and watched while he pulled the curtain aside.
“It’s so big,” he said.
“I know. Can you believe it’s all ours? What are we going to do with it?”
“Fix it up. Fill it with babies.”
I smiled. The relief of reconnection washed over me. Tom kissed my temple and held me close for a moment. “Let’s just be happy about this, okay?” he whispered.
“Okay. Fine. You’re right. I’ll try to relax.”
Tom went to the bed and folded back the comforter, revealing matching sheets and fluffy goose down pillows. Everything looked brand new and of the highest quality. I went into the bathroom, finding the continuation of forceful hospitality I’d expected: An entire basket of Aveda sample-sized products. Turkish towels. Bottles of scented oils with little reeds stuck in them, the kind that were new and trendy that summer. When I came out a moment later, Tom was asleep, the dim light still on. He was snoring softly and drooling all over their fancy pillows.
Chapter 4
I couldn’t have been asleep for ten minutes when I was awakened by the steady pounding of something happening across the hall. The time on my phone said 2:18 am. Tom was still snoring but I was wide awake. Priscilla and Barnaby were having sex. Loud, moany, headboard banging sex. I wasn’t surprised that Tom was sleeping through it; Tom could sleep through anything.
I sat up in bed and immediately noticed that our bedroom door had mysteriously reopened a crack. A keen hatred filled me. I felt like we were being molested.
I got up, walked across the room, and pushed the door shut. It did little to muffle the show. Tom snorted abruptly in his sleep and turned over. For a moment, I thought we were in this together. But then he went right back to his rhythmic pattern of snores. I considered waking him and forcing him to share in my exasperation, my outrage, but I suspected he wouldn’t see through it like I could. Or worse, what if he liked it? Plus, I didn’t want them to have the audience they’d wanted. It was bad enough that I had to hear them, but I felt a smidge of satisfaction that Tom was sleeping right through their performance.
As Priscilla reached a screaming, panting orgasm, crying out, “Deuce! Deuce! Deuce!” and Barnaby made a noise like a school bus of nerds reaching a science fair, Tom rolled over in his sleep, gave a little grunt, and awoke with a jolt.
“What time is it? What are you doing over there?” he asked me, his voice thick with sleep.
“Just playing a game on my phone,” I said. I was perched on the arm of a chair meant for reading, the kind you typically only see in catalog bedrooms or show houses.
“Why aren’t you in bed?”
“Our new friends jus
t had sex,” I whispered. “And would you believe that our door, which I had firmly clicked shut, had been opened again? So we could hear them, obviously.”
“I didn’t hear anything. Calm down and come back to bed.”
“I don’t want to sleep in that bed. In fact, I don’t want to be here. Let’s go home.”
“No. I’m sleeping. Just come back to bed.”
“I hate these people,” I whispered with so much force that I accidentally spit on myself. “I hate this town. We’ve made a gigantic mistake. Tom, we need to leave.”
“We can’t do that. You’re tired. Get some sleep and you’ll be happy and normal again tomorrow.”
“Nuh uh,” I said, vehemently shaking my head. “Don’t you understand? I hate these people. We’ve just been molested!” I whisper-screamed to him.
“We live across from them. We need to get along. What are they going to think if they wake up in the morning and we’re gone?”
“I don’t care. They’ll think we woke up early and left, I guess. Who cares?”
“Courtney, come back to bed. Let’s just get a good night’s sleep, as much as we can at this point, and I promise we’ll distance ourselves from them starting tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to come back to bed. This is turning into a nightmare. I really, really need to leave. Please come home with me.”
“It’s too late. Just relax and come back to bed.”
“They had sex!”